


Locked Away

by Kalajorn



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Ford to the rescue, Gen, Post-Weirdmaggedon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalajorn/pseuds/Kalajorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Weirdmaggedon, life is going well for Stanley and Stanford Pines. Unfortunately Stan's past has caught up to him. Will Stanford be able to save his brother in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a series of posts on tumblr by by @thesnadger, @pinesinthewoods, @logicalbookthief and @impishnature. I'll link the posts at the end of the story because of spoilers.

Jerald took a deep breath as a big man with thick brows and lots of tattoos ushered him into the room. If this panned out for him, he could get out of his dead end job, his dead end life, and finally go places. If this went poorly… Well he would be getting out of his dead end life in entirely the wrong way.

The room before him was poorly lit in a way he suspected had more to do with creating an atmosphere than lack of money. There were tables scattered around the room, with tough dangerous looking men seated at them.

As Jerald entered the room the chatter ceased entirely, a hungry silence filling the room. He swallowed hard and followed the tattooed man to a table at the end of the room. A white collar worker like him didn’t belong here. He felt like a hare in a den of feral dogs.

“Here he is Jorge”

The tattooed man left and wandered to the other side of the room, leaving him with the heavyset Columbian drug-dealer. The man eyed him with the casual interest of a butcher looking over a fresh slab of meat.

“So I hear you have some information on an old pal of mine”

Jerald nodded vigorously, trying not to choke on the man’s cigar smoke.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

There were unspoken threats of what would happen if he was wrong in the tone of the question and the twist of Jorge’s lips.

Jerald nodded, he had been very thorough. He knew how these things worked.

“I did the paperwork myself to get his name reinstated, there’s no doubt about it he’s alive”

Jerald stepped forward and offered a file. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as the other man leafed through it. The thin man shivered as Jorge finished reading and leaned forward into the light, his thick, scarred face creasing into a dangerous smile. There was a nasty glint in his eyes that put the paper pusher’s hair on end.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, where did you say he lives now?”

“Gravity Falls, Oregon. He runs a little tourist trap called the Mystery Shack”

Jorge leaned back into his chair again and took a long drag on his cigar. He watched the smoke waft across the room.

“Time to pay an old friend a visit”

* * *

 

Stan Pines growled in annoyance to himself as he left the grocery store. Ever since the whole Wierdmaggedon thing went down everyone seemed to think he was some sort of hero. While he was certainly enjoying the respect he got, he had never realized that he would get tired of free groceries so fast. He really missed the thrill of shoplifting.

As he rounded the corner to where he had parked his car, he felt an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He shrugged. Maybe he had too many burritos for lunch. Still the feeling persisted.

Stan shifted the grocery bags to one arm, and popped his back before fishing out his keys. There was a crunch of gravel as someone approached from behind him. Probably one of the townsfolk, they just couldn’t leave him alone anymore.

“I’m busy right now, can’t sign any autographs,” He said gruffly.

He really should start charging for those.

His daydream of wealth was interrupted by a very wrong sounding chuckle from behind him. There was a feeling like a spider crawling on his neck as all the warning bells in his head went off.

“I’m sure you can make time for an old friend.”

Stan spun around, groceries still on one arm.

The only thing he had a chance to see was the wood of a short two by four the moment before his world exploded into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Stanford pines hummed contentedly as he added some finishing touches to his sketch of the Kraken. He and Stan had returned from their voyage about a week ago and were crashing at the Mystery Shack to rest and restock before heading out again. Their next destination was the Bermuda Triangle. It would definitely be nice to get out of the cold that had descended on Oregon. As much as Ford hated to admit it, the cold sunk a lot deeper into his bones nowadays. Some warm sunshine and tropical beaches would be nice.

His musings were interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. Instinctively he looked up at the clock and was surprised to see it was 5:30. He had been down in his study for eight hours. This was surprising because Stanley rarely let him work through lunch. He shrugged and stretched slowly. Oh, well. Stan probably got caught up in that soap opera he was so fond of. What was it called? Oh yes, The Duchess Approves. His lips curled up into a smirk. His brother might be tough as nails, but no matter what the man claimed, he had always had a soft spot for romantic shows. It had been so hard to keep a straight face after he caught Stan sobbing over a gallon tub of ice cream as he watched a rerun of the wedding scene.

Ford meandered out of his study, which was now decorated with family pictures and art from Mabel and Dipper. He had burned all the images of that wretched triangle. As he arrived at the main level of the house he was surprised to find it quiet and empty. He slunk softly through the gift shop and into the kitchen, somehow unwilling to break the silence. In the kitchen he found a note on the table reading:

_Hi Dr. Pines._

_Melody and I will be gone all day for a picnic. Mr. Pines went into town for groceries, he should be back in time for lunch._

_Stay cool dude,_

_Soos._

Ford stared at the notes for a few minutes. It was… odd that Stan was so late. Then again, Stan seemed to lose track of time a little more often, since the memory gun.

Ford felt a lump form in his throat. That was something he would never truly be able to forgive himself for, even if it was the only way to defeat Bill and save the kids. He still had nightmares that Stan never remembered him or that Bill caught on at the last minute and he was left with a brain-dead brother as Bill destroyed the world. There were also the moments when Stan would look confused when he mentioned something from their childhood.

He shook his head now was not the time to be dwelling on that. Stan was way past due to return home. He would have to go out and look for him. Just to be sure.

* * *

It didn’t take long to locate Stan’s car when he got into town. The grocery store was the first place he had planned to check and the familiar red Diablo was parked in the alley alongside it.

Ford wandered inside, trying to ignore the stares and whispers. Despite the fact that the whole town was pretending that Weirdmageddon never happened, they insisted on treating the Pines brothers like heroes whenever they came into town. He suspected they were also especially curious about him, given his reputation as the “mysterious scientist” who knew Bill personally.

He drew his collar up and shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached the casher

“May I help you, Sir?”

“Yes, have you seen my brother around?” Ford asked.

She blinked at him, then nodded.

“Yeah, Mr. Pines was stopped by around eleven or so.”

Stanford’s heart started beating faster.

“His cars still here,” He said softly, more to himself then her.

“Maybe he got sidetrack by someone, he’s really popular right now” Said the checker with a shrug, starting on the next costumer in line.

“Maybe,” Ford agreed, but that did nothing to stop the growing feeling of fear in his chest.

“Excuse me I have to go.”

Ford spun on his heel and was out the door before she even had a chance to respond.

He all but ran to the car. He stopped for a second and took a deep breath. Panic had never helped him in the past. After a moment he began to look over the Diablo slowly and methodically. He tugged all the handles and found them to be locked. Next he peered into the car. He could see no groceries. He retrieved the spare key from the underside of the car and opened the trunk. Nothing. Unless Stan had been running around with groceries for the past 6 hours something was very amiss.

He crouched down and began to scan the ground. Then, by the door of the car, He found his first clue. Blood. The familiar dried brown flecks decorated a heavily scuffed up area of gravel. If he had been anxious before, it was nothing compared to the full blown terror he felt now.


	3. Chapter 3

Stan was jerked from the black haze he had been floating in by a splash of ice-cold water to the face. He sputtered, trying to get the putrid drips out of his mouth as his awareness returned. His head was throbbing viciously and every time he tried to open his eyes it increased. He wanted to wipe his face, but his attempt to move revealed he was tied to a chair. For some reason it was really hard to breathe through his nose. There was a very strange sense of déjà vu to all this. His tongue darted out to clean his lips and tasted copper.

“Welcome back,” said a smug, inexplicably familiar, voice.

Stanley froze and then tried again to open his eyes to see who it was. He had a very bad feeling about this.

His eyes opened enough that he could make out a hazy silhouette before him.

“Who?” He croaked. Damn, his voice sounded awful. It felt like he had been gargling sand.

“Aw, come on Pines, I’m hurt. I can’t believe ya don’t remember me. And after all we’ve been though… Ya must be getting senile in your old age.”

The memories were there, scratching at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite bring them into the forefront.

Then he finally managed to focus on the man’s face. It was the last piece needed and the memories came roaring into his mind like an avalanche. The pounding pain in his skull increased ten-fold, as did his fear.

“Jorge?!” Stan said, carefully keeping his voice even.

“Yep.”

Stan’s pulse was picking up speed. A majority of his memories had been restored since Weirdmageddon, but up till now the ten years he had spent on the streets had been rather vague and spotty. It had been frustrating at the time to have such a huge gap. Now he was wishing they hadn’t come back. Then again if he remembered earlier he might have avoided this mess.

Shit, this wasn’t going to end well.

Jorge leaned close, his foul smelling breath making Stan glad his nose wasn’t running at full capacity.

“I do believe ya owe me something, Stan, and I’d like to collect that debt.”

“Of… Of course. If I can return to the shack I’ll be sure to pay you in full.” Being tied up was really doing nothing for his bargaining skills and frankly, he didn’t really care. He was too old to deal with this.

Jorge leaned back a moment and studied him through half closed eyes.

“Oh I’m not interested in that anymore. I’ve got lots of money.”

Stan stomach dropped. If he wasn’t interested in money that meant…

Jorge grinned at the growing panic on Stan’s face.

“Yep that’s right. I’ve been wanting a little revenge for a while now”

He circled around Stan like a hungry lion.

“I was really so sad when I heard someone had offed ya before I had a chance. But what do ya know? Turns out ya were alive all along… I’m going to enjoy this,” He said pulling Stan’s head back by the hair.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I have places to go, people to see. I’m a busy guy,” Stan said.

He started to subtly work the ropes, pulse beating frantically in his ears. If he could just get his hands free…

He received a hard blow to the face for his trouble. His neck snapped hard to the side. He stopped moving as stars shot across his vision and the pounding in his head worsened.

Jorge clicked his tongue.

“Now, now don’t make this any harder for yourself.”

“Your ugly mug is making this harder for me. Did you get your face stuck in a blender since I last saw you?” Stan snapped.

He really shouldn’t have said that.

Jorge stopped walking and drew his fist back like he was going to strike Stanley again, but stopped. A slow smile spread across his face, causing his eyes to glint in the dim light.

“Ya know I was always annoyed that my last attempt to off ya didn’t work out, I think I want a redo.”

Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

Ford quickly carefully followed the drag marks in the gravel. They lead around the corner to the grocery store’s back lot, coming to a stop at the edge, out of sight from the alley. There was a spray of gravel and a little visible dirt where the drag marks stopped, indicating that a car had left really fast.

Ford managed to follow the tracks until they reached the concreate entrance to the main road.

He let out a series of curses. Tracking a car on concreate was nigh impossible without some tech that he did not currently have. He could, of course, recreate it, but that would take time. He wasn’t sure that time was something Stan had.

As he was standing there for a moment, conjuring up worse care scenarios in his mind, there was a heavy thud of something approaching him from the right. Nerves on high alert, Stanford spun, drawing his ray gun and leveling it at the offender in the same motion…

And found himself face to face with a very shocked Multibear.

The Multibear took a step back and they regarded each other for a moment, before Ford lowered his gun.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding a lot more aggressive then he intended.

“I was in town to buy the latest Babba CD. You seem… unusually jumpy today, is something wrong?”

The Multibear eyed him with concern, three of his heads focusing on Ford as the bear shifted his balance.

He took a deep breath, trying to slow his pulse.

“Someone has kidnapped Stanley.”

“What!?” The Multibear roared in shock, all of his heads now focused on Stanford.

“Who would do that?”

“I don’t know,” Ford said. “I was trying to follow the tracks, but I don’t have anything to use to trace a car on concreate.”

Frustration colored his tone as he twined and untwined his fingers.

“Do you have anything with Stan’s scent on it?”

Ford nodded.

“His car’s over there.”

The Multibear dropped to all fours and started sniffing around with his multiple noses. He started at the Stan’s car, carefully smelling the blood with a snarl, and followed the scent past where Ford was standing and onto the road.

“I’ve got the trail. If you want to follow along in a car I can lead you to him. But we need to start immediately, before the trail gets old.”

Ford in old Diablo in a moment. A few of the bear’s heads were eyeing him, so he gave him a nod. The Multibear let out a loud roar, like a hound baying, and charged forward, four or five of its noses to the ground.

Ford trailed at a slight distance so he could stop or change directions if needed. They quickly headed out of town to the east, pine trees flashed by as they made haste.

* * *

 

It was starting to get dark when the Multibear lead them into the parking lot of a biker bar in the next town over. Ford pulled up beside him and rolled down his window.

“The scent leads here, but it’s too weak for me to track it any farther.”

“That’s okay,” Ford said eyeing the bar.

He parked the car and got out quickly, drawing his trench coat loosely around him and making sure his ray gun was hidden at his side.

“You check the cars for Stanley’s scent just to be sure. I’m going to see if I can get some information.”

The bear nodded and started sniffing around the lot.

Ford took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and entered the bar.

It was exactly what he had expected. The establishment was poorly lit and smelled strongly of smoke, vomit, alcohol and a faint copper tinge of blood. The men inhabiting the building were a rough looking, cutthroat lot. Most wearing leather and biker jackets.

Ford felt their attention focus on him as the door closed. He had dealt with similar places on the other side of the portal, so he simply straightened his back and strode confidently toward the bar. The barman approached him and asked what he wanted. He asked for a rum and sat down, observing the other patrons from his vantage point. The convenient thing about looking for Stan was that since they looked so similar he could get some idea of who might know something just by seeing if they showed recognition when they saw him. The bar tender returned with his drink, setting it down rather hard in front of him. As he turned to go away, Ford grabbed his arm.

“Do you know of a Stanley Pines?” He asked.

The man regarded him for a moment through a pair of annoyed dull gray eyes.

“He comes by here occasionally for… business. Haven’t seen him recently though.”

He tugged away from Ford before he could make any further inquiries.

Stanford sighed and began to pick up conversations with the other patrons. His search eventually led him to a wiry man named Charles seated at one of the corner tables.

“I heard you know something about Stanley Pines?” Ford asked seating himself across from the red-haired man.

Charles gave him a crooked toothed grin.

“Sure do,” He regarded Ford for a moment and let out a low whistle.

“Damn, I heard his brother had turned up, but I wasn’t expecting such a splittin’ image of him.”

His eyes ran across Ford’s body and as they settled on his hands and his eyebrows went up. As he opened his mouth to comment, Ford shot him a cold glare and the man quickly looked away.

“So you’re looking for Pines, I can give you a few pointers, but what do I get out of it?”

Ford slid some money across the table.

Charles’ grin widened as he pocketed the money, then folded his hands in front of him.

“Well, a day or two ago this big Colombian guy, Jorge, drops by. Says he wants to know about Pines. From the sound of it he’s got some sort of bad past business with him. He was back by a few hours ago today. Gone now though.”

He took another sip of his beer.

“Where did he go?” Ford asked with barely contained impatience.

“Eh? I don’t know,” Charles said carelessly, swishing the beer around in his glass.

Ford could tell he was lying.

“There’s some more money in it for you if you talk.”

Charles glanced at him through half lidded eyes.

“Sorry, nothing I can tell ya.”

Ford could feel a cold anger starting to pump through his veins. This man had information that could help him find his brother, who could be severely injured or even dying, and he wasn’t talking.

“Why don’t you tell me before I lose my temper” Ford said growled.

“Yeesh. No need to get your pants in a knot, there’s nothing I can tell you.”

That was it. Ford stood up quickly, his chair clattering to the ground. Before Charles could react he was pinned up against the wall by a strong six-fingered grip.

“Tell me before I do something you’ll regret,” He half-yelled at the man.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bartender glaring at them. He redoubled his grip on Charles’ coat collar and dragged the struggling man out the door.

Outside he slammed him into a corner

“Now talk.”

“I can’t go telling my patrons secrets if I want to have a job,” Charles snarled back at him.

Ford saw a glint out of the corner of his eye and caught Charles’ hand before he could stab him, wrenching the knife out of  his grip.

Keeping the smaller man pinned up against the wall with one hand he reached into his packet with the other. He withdrew his hand now covered in the electric glove. He activated it and it crackled ominously.

“What is that?”

“A world of pain for you if you don’t talk.”

“I won’t. I can’t rat him out, once you get pegged as a rat no-one’ll trust you,” Charles said eyeing the glove warily.

Then Charles’ eyes went big as they focused on something over his shoulder.

“I’m done checking the cars,” Ford heard the Multibear say from behind him.

Now Charles looked terrified.

“W-W-What is – what is that?” He stammered.

Hmm. Ford could use this. He remembered that people of this type tended to be rather superstitious.

“He’s the demon that is going to be punishing you for your bad deeds. If you talk though, he might let you go.”

Ford didn’t think it was possible for the man’s face to get any whiter or his eyes any bigger, but he was wrong.

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! Just please don’t let it hurt me!” Charles pleaded frantically.

“Jorge went to the old shack by Stellar’s Lake. That’s down the road about 10 miles, to the left. He said somethin’ about having some fun with an old friend, and needing to line up a new car for afterward.”

Ford could feel the Multibear’s breath on his shoulder as the beast growled.

“T-t-t-t-that’s all I know, honest,” Charles’ stammered fearfully, his voice cracking.

“Please let me go!”

He seemed to be telling the truth this time, so Ford released his grip on the man’s collar and watched as he slid into a sobbing heap on the ground.

“If you’re lying we’ll be back for you.”

“Come on,” He said as he turned around, signally for Multibear to follow him.

“I’m not a demon, you know,” The bear commented casually as they ran back to the car.

“Yeah, I know, but he doesn’t.”

He glanced at the bear for a moment.

“Thanks for coming, it really helped.”

“Anything for the Pines family.” The bear replied, giving him a small smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments. Here's some pain and agony to show my appreciation.

Stan felt like he had been run over by a truck. He was fairly certain his right arm was broken, there were multiple bruises and lacerations all over his body, and any movement brought an explosion of stars in front of his eyes. He spat out a little blood and drew in a raspy breath.

As Jorge’s grinning face moved into his line of vision he didn’t even have enough energy to glare at him.

“So had enough, Pines? Any more witty comebacks for me?”

Stanley remained silent.

“Hmm, that’s a bummer. I guess it’s time to get rid of you.”

He moved behind Stan and began untying the ropes. Normally at this point Stan would have tried to escape, but he didn’t even have the energy to keep himself upright when the ropes fell away. He fell to the floor like a dead fish.

Jorge made a little tutting sound.

“Pathetic, you used to have more fight than this.”

He retied Stan’s arms to his sides, this time adding a gag to the mix, then he grabbed Stan’s legs and started dragging him outside. Stan hissed as his raw wounds scrapped against the concrete.

Jorge picked him up and then heaved him roughly back down. Whatever he landed on gave slightly with an echoing thump. His vision was starting to fade out at this point so he wasn’t sure where he was.

There was an acidic smell of ammonia under his nose and his senses came roaring back from the edge of unconsciousness. His eyes crossed a little as he focused on the rag Jorge was holding in front of his nose and then back to the man’s face.

Jorge grinned.

“Wouldn’t do to have ya out for this next part, ya should really take a look ‘round.”

Stan did and he felt a cold shock of fear run through him. He was in the trunk of the car. He sucked in a breath of air as a blinding flash of pain pierced his skull. In the wake of the pain came memories of being trapped and screaming for help, all the while knowing no-one would come.

He wanted to scream right now, but he could only get a small whimper past the gag.

“Have fun,” Jorge said with a cruel smirk and slammed the trunk closed.

“Oh and just so you don’t escape like last time, I will be welding the trunk shut.”

There was a metallic smell and the telltale hum of a welding torch followed by silence.

The car began to rattle, moving forward and jostling Stan around, then there was a loud splash of water and things were silent.

Despite the cold that was now permeating the air Stan was sweating. His pulse was picking up in a way it hadn’t ever before, even when Jorge was beating him. He whimpered slightly and tried to roll his body over so he could see if there was any emergency opener for the trunk. Oh. That’s right. Jorge had welded it shut. Shit.

He needed to think of a way out of this, but his brain was refusing to cooperate. Tremors began to pass through his body. Not from cold, that actually felt kind of good right now with all his bruises, but rather from a deep seated terror that was starting to bubble up.

_If he didn’t get out of here right now he was going to die. He wasn’t sure if it would be from the slowly leaking bullet wound in his side, the heat or from dehydration, but this was certainly not how he wanted to go out. He had so much left to do. He groaned as he changed positions._

The memory of the last time he had been in this situation was so vivid, for a moment he thought he was there. He shivered trying to scan the dark interior of the trunk for a way out.

_He bashed his head hard into the tail-light trying to knock it out. He wouldn’t go out this way he had to escape._

He had gotten out of there, right? He had rescued his brother, hadn’t he?

_He attacked the metal near the hatch opening with all the fury of a trapped animal, trying to rip it to sheds with his teeth._

He shivered violently curling in on himself. Where was he? Was anyone coming for him?

Images he had forgotten flashed through his mind.

The rough feel of the sidewalk against his skin on the night he was thrown out. The cold sting of the air during winter in his car. The sharp retort of a gun. The swish of grass as he fled his pursuers.

The feeling of being trapped and alone.

_He was too weak to make any sound of celebration when the trunk popped open. He merely hulled his beaten body out. Blood dripped from his ruined gums. He stayed upright long enough to cut the ropes off his wrists on a jagged shard of metal from the trunk. He collapsed to the desert sand in agony, but it didn’t matter, he was free!_

He felt a drip of water against his face. No he wasn’t free, he was still trapped. He writhed about partially to try to loosen his bonds, but partially in simple visceral fear. He let out a muffled scream as he rolled over onto his broken arm.

Another drip of water hit his face. He realized with dawning horror that the trunk was leaking.

He was going to die down here.

No! He couldn’t die. Not when he had just gotten his family back. People finally respected him. He was living his dream of sailing around the world with his brother.

His brother.

His brother had to have noticed he was gone. Right?

_A photo of them as children. A hopeful smile. “I want it to be you Stanley.”_

_A sincere pair of brown eyes looking into his own._

_“Will you give me a second chance?”_

That’s right. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had people he could trust. His brother cared about him.

He felt a small spark of hope in the sea of terror and clung it like a drowning man to a plank.

This time his brother would come for him. He knew it.

He just had to hold on.


	6. Chapter 6

Ford was fairly certain he broke all the laws of traffic in his haste to get to the lake and he didn’t really care. He would have broken a few laws of physics if it had gotten him there quicker. The Multibear had managed to squeeze into the Diablo, Ford didn’t know how and he wasn’t going to question it.

  
He drifted to a halt in front of the lake, spraying gravel everywhere and nearly taking out a small tree.

He turned off the vehicle and charged full speed to the shed, stopping outside the door and drawing his ray gun. The shack was a shaky looking structure with its door loosely secured by a small chain. The rusted padlock was open and still had a key in it. He kicked the door open and it slammed hard into the wall behind it. Ford charged in and scanned the room, ray gun level. Nothing. It was empty except for a chair and thick coil of rope.

The Multibear stuck his head in the door and recoiled with a snarl. 

“There has been a lot of blood in there.”

A jolt of fear went through Ford.

“Stan’s?” He whispered, breathlessly.

“Yes, but also some others.”

Ford gave a shutter as the implications sunk in, only now noticing the rust colored stains on the chair and floor.

“He went this way,” The bear said interrupting Ford’s thoughts.

He spun and started following, glad to leave the dirty shed behind. The bear loped along a disturbed path of gravel toward the lake. Right before the lake the path ended and was replaced with tire tracks that led…

Straight into the lake!

“Does his scent go in there?”

Ford didn’t get an answer. He didn’t need one.

The Multibear charged into the lake with a giant splash. Ford chucked off his trench coat and dove in after him. 

About ten to twenty feet from shore they found a car on the lake bottom surrounded by milfoil. Ford darted up for a quick breath of air and then dived back down. 

He swam around the car shining a small penlight inside, but couldn’t make out anyone through the windows. The trunk maybe. He shot up for another breath, dived down and then tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The next time he went up for air,

Multibear was waiting for him.

“We need to pull it out.”

Ford nodded, “but how? We won’t get enough leverage underwater…”

Then he remembered.

“The rope!”

Ford swam back to shore as fast as he could and retrieved the rope from the shed. He dove back in and tied it to the bumper. Hopefully it would hold. He and Multibear returned to shore, grabbed the end and started pulling.

At first nothing happened. The car was held in place by thick mud. Then, slowly but surely, it began to move. Once the trunk was fully surfaced Ford dropped the rope and ran towards the vehicle, Multibear lumbering close behind.

As he examined the trunk he realized, with a snarl, that it was welded shut.

“Here let me do it,” Multibear said, gently moving him to the side with a large paw.

He hooked two sets of claws on the top edge and two on the bottom. With a mighty growl and a violent shriek of metal, he ripped the trunk open.

Ford ignored the ringing in his ears and pushed forward to get a look.

His brother curled into a tight ball in in about 6 inches of water the center of the trunk. His hands and legs were bound tightly and there was a bloody gag in his mouth. Before Ford could reach for him the Multibear gently lifted Stan out of the trunk, carefully supporting his back and neck. He lumbered back to shore and sat down in the sand.

Ford pulled a knife out of his boot and got to work on the ropes as he examined Stan. His brother was in bad shape, Dark black bruises and cuts littered his body, his nose was twisted to the side, his glasses where cracked and his lips had taken on a blue tone. If it weren’t for the fact Ford could see his chest rising and falling unsteadily, he would have thought he was dead.  
As Ford removed the last ropes, Stan’s eyes weakly fluttered open. One pupil was blown wide and the other was contracted. Concussion.

His eyes jerked around a little before focusing haphazardly on Stanford’s face. He squinted.

“Sixer?” 

His voice was weak, pained, and uncertain, but there was a hint of hope in it. A lump formed in Ford’s throat. Had Stan been waiting for him? He reached out with a shaking hand and gently stroked Stan’s hair. He would have liked to hug him, but he was afraid of making his injuries worse.

“Yes. It’s me. You’re safe now. We’ve got you,” he murmured soothingly, continuing to run his fingers through Stan’s hair.

He gently rested his other hand on his brother’s. Stan’s lips twitched slightly in what could have been a smile and he mumbled, “Knew ya’d come.”

His eyes fluttered back shut and he did not respond when Ford tried to rouse him again.

“We need to get him to a hospital now,” Ford said cursing under his breath. If he went into a coma…

* * *

Ford paced back and forth outside the hospital waiting room. He had wanted to stay with Stan when the emergency crew took care of him, but they had calmly explained that he would get in the way.  One of the nurses pointed out that he was wearing clothes that were dripping lake water and had who knows what kind of bacteria in them.

They had asked him to go back home and change, he had refused and now he was wearing some clothes from the hospitals clothing drive as his own got washed.

He wondered when Multibear would arrive. He had to leave him at the lake because there wasn’t room in the car, so the bear was returning on foot.

“Stanford Pines?”

A nurse had come out of the room and was signaling for him to come in.

Ford followed her anxiously. Stanley lay on the bed pale and covered in bandages. There was a thick blanket over him and a machine monitoring his vitals. 

“How is he?” Ford asked shoving his hands into his pockets.

“He should recover, but it is going to take a lot of time. He appears to have been heavily beaten. Aside from the bruises and cuts, he has three fractured ribs, a broken nose, his right arm is completely broken, and he’s sustained some heavy head trauma. On top of all this he has hypothermia.”

The nurse paused and regarded him for a second through sympathetic hazel eyes.

“I don’t know what exactly happened, but it is highly likely he will have some psychological trauma from this, he’s going to need a lot of support when he goes home. I advise that you don’t leave him alone for long periods of time.”

Ford nodded, mutely watching his brother.

A cold rush of anger ran through him setting his hair and teeth on edge. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Jorge was going to suffer for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you've all been waiting for... Ford the the rescue! Hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

Ford was starting to doze off again in his chair when Stan stirred. The hospital staff had allowed him to use the bed next to Stan’s and stay the night. He was lucky he was in Gravity Falls or he wouldn’t have gotten away with that. Despite their hospitality he hadn’t slept well. Every half hour or so he would wake up in a panic and wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he was sure Stan was still there and breathing.

As Stan’s heart monitor began to pick up, Ford woke up the rest of the way. He leaned over to hit the nurse call button. He was supposed to notify them as soon as Stan woke up, but he paused when his brother let out a whimper.

Stan was starting to jerk and move around, his eyes twitching under their lids. He mumbled something. Ford couldn’t understand what he was saying, but Stan sounded anxious and fearful. Likely a nightmare. He frowned and stood up.

“No… No… Por favor!”

Stan’s voice was desperate and pleading. His face scrunched up and his thick grey brows drew together. He started to thrash around in his covers, left hand hitting weakly against the sheets.

Concerned that Stan was going to hurt himself and hating to see him in distress, Ford moved to his side and gently rested a hand on his shoulders.

“Wake up you’re dreaming.”

Stan shot into an upright position and jerked away from his hand, yelling, “Por favor, me no mata!”

His eyes opened wide and swept around the room before coming to rest on Ford. For one heart wrenching moment there was no recognition in those brown orbs, only fear and desperation.

“Stan, it’s me,” Ford said gently, hand outstretched. He hesitated, afraid of spooking Stan again. A part of him that feared Stan had forgotten him. Perhaps the trauma would set Stan back to that place where Ford was just a stranger who shared his face.

The clock ticked noisily for a few seconds before he could see it click in Stan’s mind. His eyes finally focused on Ford and he truly saw him. Stan’s shoulders shook for a moment and his lip trembled, then he lurched forward and latched onto him in a tight hug. Ford reciprocated, but tried to pull back when Stan let out a hiss of pain. His brother wouldn’t let go. Gnarled fingers twisted into the back of his shirt like he was a life raft. Ford settled for keeping a firm but gentle grip as Stan shook violently against him.

They stayed that way for a while until the worst subsided and Stan let go with another hiss of pain. Ford gently lowered him onto the bed.

“W-what happened,” Stan asked in a weak voice.

He grimaced.

“Ugh, I sound pathetic, shaking like a baby. I’m such a wimp”

He clutched his fist into the sheets in an attempt to stop it from shaking. Ford rested one of his own hands over it and then gently tilted Stan’s chin up with the other.

“No, you are not.” He said firmly.

“You just went through something horrible and it’s normal to be acting like this. I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty I would not be doing any better.”

There was a grateful gleam in Stan’s eyes even if he still wouldn’t make eye contact with Ford.

“How did I end up here?” He asked hesitantly.

“The last thing I remember is… is.. the trunk was leakin’ an’ it hurt and.. and..”

Stan’s breathing increased and hand started clenching and unclenching sporadically on the sheets.

Ford cut him off by resting his hand on his shoulder.

“I went looking for you when you didn’t call me down for dinner. I found your car parked by the grocery store with some blood by it. Multibear helped me find you and rescue you from the trunk. You were briefly conscious, but not very lucid. I suppose you do not remember that.”

Stan shook his head.

There was a soft “A-hem” and the two turned to see a nurse standing awkwardly by the door.

“If you don’t mind I need to check you over, Mr. Pines.”

She wheeled a tray of bandages and medical instruments over to the side of the bed opposite Stanford.

Over the next half-hour or so she checked him over, then cleaned his wounds and redid his bandages. Ford noticed that Stan would flinch occasionally, even though the nurse was being as gentle as possible. Occasionally his eyes would dart around as if looking for an escape route. Ford suspected the only reason Stan hadn’t tried to make a run for it was his presence at his side.

* * *

There were a lot of people, literally the whole town in fact, that wanted to check in on Stan, but Ford made sure they kept the visitors to a minimum. Stan was jumpy and too many people or a lot of noise put him on edge. Every once in a while he would have a panic attack or Ford would find him just staring blankly at a wall. Those times scared Ford the most because he would be completely unresponsive, often for more than an hour.

It was the third day after Stan had woken up that the doctor said he could go home. He felt that Stan’s mental health would be better in a familiar environment.

Ford decided it was time to ask him about what happened. He wasn’t entirely sure what the right time was so he brought it up rather abruptly when they were sitting in the living room having lunch.

“So can you tell me about your history with this “Jorge”?”

Stan tensed up and Ford prepared to backpedal, not wanting to upset his brother.

“No that’s okay,” Stan said noticing his panicked expression.

He sighed and averted his eyes to the side.

“Actually I think it’s probably important for you to know a little about my past just in case someone else comes after me.”

Ford frowned, that didn’t sound good.

Stan gave a little self-depreciating chuckle and drew his blanket tighter around himself.

“Honestly I hadn’t remembered much about that time before this happened.”

Ford moved closer and draped an arm over his shoulder. Stan leaned into his touch and relaxed a little.

“Over the years that I was on the street I did some pretty bad things. Things a lot worse than conning some suckers and evading taxes.  I’ve tangled with a lot of people I shouldn’t ‘av. I met Jorge when I was in prison in Columbia, we worked together during a prison break and then, afterward, he offered me a job. I was pretty low on options at that point, so I accepted.”

Stan was keeping his face turned away from Ford while he was talking and his shoulders were hunched in. Ford couldn’t read his expression. He paused and took a deep shuddering breath.

“He wanted me to… to move some… slaves that they were going to sell over the border. Even I have lines I won’t cross and this was beyond wrong. I acted like I was going along with it, and then let them off at a safe place. Afterward I hightailed it back toward the States. I made it about as far as South Mexico before a gang that he was allied with caught me.”

Stan wrapped one arm around his shoulder and the other hand drifted to a spot on his side.

“They turned me over to Jorge, who had apparently got into a lot of trouble over my actions. He beat me, locked me in the trunk of my car and left me in the desert to die.”

A memory surfaced in Fords mind of that conversation, well yelling match, before he got sucked into the portal.

“You said you chewed your way out of the trunk of a car.”

Stan nodded.

“Kinda. I actually used my teeth to rip a big enough hole in the car boot to get at the locking mechanism.”

They sat for a moment in silence as Ford processed this.

“So this bastard did this to you before?”

More of his anger must have reached into his expression than he thought, because Stan flinched away, eyes widening. Ford closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He was ready to hunt down and kill this Jorge with his bare hands, but he didn’t want to unintentionally let out his anger around Stan. No he would push it down deep inside and save it and then when he had access to Jorge, then he could let it out all at once. It wouldn’t do to be impatient.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Ford gave Stan’s arm a reassuring squeeze. In the past Stan would have tried to laugh it off, but over the past few months they had spent in close quarters on the Stan o’War they had started to realize they didn’t have to fight their personal demons alone.

“Would you like some more stew?” Ford asked Stan.

He shook his head.

“I’m not terribly hungry anymore. I might just see what’s on TV.”

Ford gave an understanding nod and went into the kitchen to wash their plates.

In the privacy of the kitchen Ford set the plates down a little harder than necessary and let his anger rise to the surface a little. He couldn’t go looking for Jorge but then he didn’t have to. Jorge would be coming to him very soon.

He smiled slightly remembering the town meeting that had occurred while Stan was still in the hospital. Ford had explained what had happened to Stan and asked for their help. The townsfolk were outraged and had readily agreed. He suspected they would have gone after Jorge anyway even without Ford asking. The townsfolk and some of the friendly supernaturals would hunt him down and bring him back to Ford for the final payback.

Ford let a wicked grin spread across his face. He was going to enjoy this.


	8. Chapter 8

  Jorge slipped into the abandoned warehouse, closing the door behind him most of the way and peering out cautiously. Had he lost them?  
The last week had been a nightmare.

        At first there had been some whispers from friends of his that some suits were looking for him. It wasn’t unusual for the government to be observing him. He had done a number of… Well… ethically dubious things. They had never actually gone after him before, so he wasn’t worried.

      Then a biker gang began tracking him. They were led by a short albino ten-year old. Jorge would have considered this laughable if it were not for the fact the child seemed genuinely psychotic and had some very strong, very nasty characters following him.

         He had gone to some gangs that he was affiliated with to weather the threat out, but to his surprise they had denied him shelter. They refused to give him the full story, but he learned that some rich family and a recently minted eccentric millionaire, named Mcgucket or something, had paid them off or threatened them.

         This was his first real clue that something was out of the ordinary. While he had quarrels with a number of gangs and new drug dealers would occasionally go after him in attempts to take his place, millionaires were in another ballgame. What did they want with him?

    At that point he decided to go stay in a cabin he owned in the woods. That was when things got strange. 

    Supernatural monsters were waiting for him. His cabin was full of tiny bearded men with sharp teeth. There was some sort of a multi-headed bear monster watching him silently from the trees. A bull man mix charged at him and put a large hole in the door of the car. He barely got away.

     Jorge began fleeing in earnest, but everywhere he went something would find him. The biker gang trailed him by day and by night monsters lurked in the shadows, watching his every move. He couldn’t sleep because he was sure to wake up to something thumping around in the room. Sometimes eerily glowing eyes would return his flashlight’s glare. He was never truly sure if the monsters were all real or simply a product of his crazed sleep-deprived mind.

     He fled across multiple state lines, but he couldn’t throw them. Jorge was starting to believe they could catch him at any time, but were just toying with him for fun.  

      Today he had lost his car when a bridge had collapsed beneath it. He had managed to escape, throwing himself out the door and leaping onto the crumbling structure. When he made it off he saw merpeople watching him from just below the tumultuous waves. They called out in eerily accented Spanish, inviting him back into the water.

       He shuddered at the memory and turned to slip deeper into the warehouse.

       He froze.

      The faint light from the high windows revealed shadows of the monsters lurking in the darkness. Light glinted off of horns and glowing eyes. Jorge took a step backward toward the door, ready to make a run for it.

       There was the sound of howling motorcycle engines, scattering gravel and yells outside. His pulse sped up. He was trapped.

       A low growl rang out as the multi-headed bear monster stepped forward. Many, many eyes focused on him and its teeth shone wetly in a sneer. Jorge took a step back and hit the wall.

        “This is for the Chief” The monster snarled.

       “For the Chief, the Chief!” Hundreds of voices chanted in the shadows  
Its clawed paw shot forward and stuck him hard in the face. There was a flash of brilliant pain and then darkness.

* * *

      Jorge woke up to a splash of cold water to the face. He sputtered indignantly and tried to wipe his face, but his hands wouldn’t move. Of course he was tied to a chair. 

_Such a lovely way to wake up_ , he thought sarcastically.  

      His eyes darted around as he tried to get his bearings. He was in a small dark room. The dim light from the crack in the door allowed him to make out several monsters and the white haired kid watching him. The kid was the one holding the bucket. He grinned creepily as they made eye contact.

       “Woo-wee, you’re in for a world of trouble,” The kid said cheerfully.

      Before he could snap back a response the door opened. A tall broad shouldered figure entered, silhouetted against the light. The monsters and humans in the room whispered excitedly and then bustled out.

      The bear, who must have been standing behind him, paused on the way past the man and gave him a long look and a nod with its main head.

      The man returned the nod and the door closed behind him casting the room back into shadow.

       After a moment there was a loud shriek as a chair was pulled out and the man sat down opposite him. A bare bulb hanging over the table clicked on.  
It took Jorge a moment to adjust to the sudden light, when he did he let a loud curse.

       For a moment he thought it was Stanley Pines himself sitting before him, back from the dead. Then he began to pick out features he had not noticed before. A cleft in the chin. A different look to the eyes. A chin far more clean shaven than Stan, who almost always seemed to have a five o’clock shadow.  
Then the man folded his hands casually in front of him and Jorge saw the biggest difference: he had six fingers on each hand.

      “Who are you?” Jorge snarled, fear beginning to creep up his spine.

      “Stanford Filbrick Pines,” The man said with a congenial smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

       There was a long pause as Stanford Pines watched him. Calm, cold, analytical eyes looked over him as if simply by observation they could catalog his deepest darkest fears and secrets. Jorge felt his skin crawl as the image of a bug under a magnifying glass entered his mind.

        “What do you want?” He demanded, though at this point he had a pretty good idea.

        Stanford hummed thoughtfully taking a sip out of a cup that Jorge had not noticed before.

      “Well it seems that you’ve tried to kill my brother. I’m rather upset about that, even if you didn’t succeed.”

    Figured.

     Stanford paused and set the cup down on the table. He stood up his long six-fingered hands entwined behind his back as he circled the room.  
“I wonder what I should do about that.”

     He paused behind Jorge.

     “Do you have anything to say, before I make my decision?”

      Jorge felt his heart slowly beating faster and faster. Stanford was very different from his brother. Stan had been a stick of dynamite with a short fuse. Stanford, on the other hand, seemed to burn with a cold slow fire. Jorge had no idea what he was about to do and that scared him. He reminded Jorge of another man he had met. That man would act friendly and polite one moment and be slashing you with a knife the next.

      Jorge felt a spark of jealously. Stan didn’t deserve a man out to avenge him. Fear and anger mixed clouding his judgement and he said:

      “Why the fuck do you care so much about that worthless waste of space?”

       Stanford froze facing away from Jorge. His back was tense and ramrod straight. His hands clenched together, knuckles turning white. A hint of red appeared at the back of his neck.

  
“That was a mistake,” Stanford Filbrick Pines said in a slow deliberate tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Ford as the kind of person who goes deadly calm when he’s mad, unless you press just the right buttons and then he explodes. Stan and Bill are especially good at this.
> 
> I’ll leave the specifics of what Ford does Jorge up to your imagination.  
> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> See you next time with the final chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Stan was just finishing the latest episode of The Duchess Approves when his brother walked in. The first thing that he noticed was the fact that he had a clean, _new_ trench coat on. The next thing that came to his attention was the grim but satisfied expression he was wearing.

"You won't have to worry about Jorge ever again," Ford stated in a pleased tone.

Stan slowly turned off the TV, but didn't look at Ford.

"What do you mean?"

"I… took care of him… We did. The town decided to pitch in."

"I see…"

Ford moved around the recliner. He laid a hand on Stan's shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"He will never hurt you again, you're safe now, I promise."

Ford's tone was sincere and his eyes didn't waver.

Stan blinked. He pulled Ford into a tight hug.

"Thank-you"

* * *

**1 month later…**

Stan was currently by himself. Ford was out trying to convince some board of idiots to give him a research grant for marine biology. The crazy old nerd was trying to get his 13th PhD, well his second in this dimension.

Unfortunately, though, Stan was really starting to wish he was home. The house was very empty and every little sound of the floorboards creaking or the screen door rattling in the breeze was making him jump.

_No I can't rely on him all the time._ Stan berated himself mentally.

He clenched his fists hard trying to stop the mounting panic he was feeling right now. He hated this. One minute he would be doing fine and the next he would be in fight or flight mode and unable to do anything about it, his mind and body ready to face a threat that wasn't there. He hated relying on Ford even though he often helped his brother deal with his own panic attacks. He had spent too long fighting his own battles, he supposed. That and it was really hard to get rid of the voice in his head telling him he was weak.

The shaking was getting worse. Stan cursed under his breath and tried to calm himself. The whispers of things to fear his mind was making up now weren't helping.

Stan nearly hit the ceiling when the phone rang. He glared at it across the room. He wasn't in any condition to deal with a solicitor or really anyone at the moment. But it could be Ford and he really did want to know when his brother would be getting back.

It rang again. Stan steeled his nerves and answered it.

"Hello?" He said keeping his voice as level as possible.

"Hi, Grunkle Stan!" Dipper's cheerful voice drifted through the receiver.

"Oh, hey there Dipper." Stan said laughing nervously.

He grabbed a handful of his hair trying to ground himself. He was going to go bald at this rate, he thought absently.

"Are you okay?" There was concern in Dipper's tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine kid, just was distracted by something on TV."

"Okay," Dipper was not buying it, but thankfully he let it drop.

"Was there a particular reason you were calling. Or did you just want to bug an old codger?"

"Oh, Yeah," Dipper said apparently remembering whatever the goal of the call had been.

"You won't believe what happened today. So you know that old printer in the Mystery Shack office?"

"Yeah…" That thing had caused Stan some problems when he was starting out.

"So anyway it turns out it can make copies of people. So a while back I made some copies of myself -don't ask why- Anyway earlier today I actually ran into two of them. So I was over at the school and…"

_Crazy kid…_ He thought with a chuckle _Of course Gravity Falls weirdness would manage to find him even back in Piedmont._

As Stan listened to Dipper's story he didn't even notice himself starting to relax. The anxiety was slowly slipping away into the back of his mind. Suddenly the empty house didn't seem as daunting anymore.

* * *

**9 months later…**

_It was dark and cold, he couldn't breathe. "Let me go, please… I'll do anything!"_

Stan shot upright in his bed, gasping. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was, just that it was dark and he was in a tight space. Terror clenched his throat shut before he remembered.

That was right… He and Ford had decided to head over toward the Bermuda Triangle, figuring it would do Stan some good to be back on the move and both of them could use some sun.

Right now, though, Stan couldn't take the close confines of the ship's cabin. Especially with the sound of water outside, it reminded him too much of… He didn't want to think of that right now.

Quickly he slipped into a thick waterproof coat and a life vest. He shoved his feet into his boots and then was on his way out the hatch.

It was a clear night. The stars were large and bright in the sky, but Stan couldn't enjoy them.

The fear from the nightmare kept clawing at his insides and he couldn't get rid of his rising anxiety.

He started wandering around the boat checking over all the equipment and ropes in an attempt to distract his mind.

"Stanley?"

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ford silhouetted in the moonlight.

Great, now he had woken his brother up… stupid anxiety.

"Hey, do you want to come sit with me?" Ford asked moving to seat himself on top of the cabin.

Stan hesitated for a moment and then sat next to him. He jumped a little as Ford leaned against him and drew a heavy wool blanket over both their shoulders.

They sat there quietly. Simply listening to the ocean around them and watching the Stars.

Ford didn't say anything, letting Stan choose to open up if he wanted. He had gotten better about that, but sometimes he just wasn't ready.

Right now Ford's quiet presence at his side was all he really needed. With Ford warm and solid against his side, the sea that had felt terrifying when he was still in the grip of the nightmare, now was calming and beautiful, it's waves and swells gently rocking the boat.

Maybe he was still struggling, maybe the nightmares would still stalk his mind, maybe there would always be some fear haunting him, maybe he had a long way to go but he wasn't alone anymore…

And that was all that really mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoyed. 
> 
> Here are the posts that this story is based of off (now that they won't be spoilers):  
> http://thesnadger.tumblr.com/post/139158173545/wouldnt-it-be-interesting-if-after-ford-and-stan  
> http://thesnadger.tumblr.com/post/139178726935/if-its-several-hours-before-ford-can-catch-up


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